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Art historian walks into the Middle Ages

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 25 Feb 2026 22:27:17 +0000

Art historian walks into the Middle Ages Rachel Sauer Wed, 02/25/2026 - 15:27

Clint Talbott

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Professor Kirk Ambrose set out to better understand art, doubt and medieval pilgrimages, but his 800-mile walk has modern implications

At some point during his trek, Kirk Ambrose felt that walking was “too fast.” Days stretched and the small loomed large. He and his wife would stop to admire a spider, then just talk about it.

“It really did change my perceptions,” he says. And that was kind of the point.

Kirk Ambrose (right), a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� professor of classics, walked nearly 800 miles along medieval pilgrimage routes, joined for part of the journey by his wife, Kim Dickey, a professor of art and art history. (Photo: Kirk Ambrose)

Last summer, Ambrose, a professor of classics at the University of Colorado Boulder, walked nearly 800 miles along medieval pilgrimage routes—much of it on the Via Jacobi, the Way of St. James, which threads through France toward Santiago de Compostela in Spain. His wife, Kim Dickey, who is a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� professor of ceramics, joined him for part of the walk.

Ambrose trained for the trek, but the goal was not athletic. It was scholarly. The long walk served as research for a book he’s writing about art and doubt in the 11th and 12th centuries.

“I wanted to get a sense of, as much as is possible in the modern day, what these experiences were like,” he says. “Pilgrimage has been a framework for understanding medieval art—especially the 12th century—and I wanted to probe that from the ground.”

He approached the journey with “a healthy dose of skepticism.” The romantic picture of pilgrims dutifully trudging from shrine to shrine, he argues, owes much to early 20th‑century American portrayals of pilgrimages.

Ambrose cites Arthur Kingsley Porter, a wealthy American scholar who toured Europe by chauffeured Rolls‑Royce and helped popularize the idea of being on the road as a way to understand the spread of medieval art. Porter’s writings reflected a privileged and American way of moving through the world, Ambrose suggests, adding that Porter’s perspectives differed from those of most Europeans.

The road and its surroundings

The walk itself focused Ambrose’s attention on the social fabric that makes pilgrimages possible. “What interested me, perhaps more than the pilgrim, was the whole support network,” he said. He met volunteers who cleaned bathrooms and retirees who opened bedrooms—chambres d’hôtes—and cooked dinner for strangers.

Many of these workers had left urban careers after the pandemic, moved by a desire to be close to a journey even if they could not make one themselves. “Again and again, I heard a version of the same idea: ‘I travel through the people I encounter, even though I’m staying in the same spot.’”

The observation seemed timeless. Medieval monks, often prohibited from physical travel, were encouraged to undertake “spiritual pilgrimages”—imagined journeys toward the divine. The modern hosts Ambrose met felt like their analogues, he said.

Ambrose trained for a year—backpack full of books—before setting out; he finished the walk in just over two months without a blister. But the physical feat was secondary.

One observation about pilgrimages, he says, is “how much time you are not in churches.” Most days were focused on ferns, salamanders, hunger and the logistics of the next bed. Sacred sites punctuated but did not define the experience.

Scholarship in motion

Kirk Ambrose's journey took him along Lake Lucerne in Switzerland. (Photo: Kirk Ambrose)

Some scholars have argued that artistic styles spread via pilgrim highways. Ambrose suggests otherwise.

“There’s an increasing body of scholarship that challenges the idea that artists simply ‘followed’ pilgrims,” he says. “Institutional affiliation and alliances often explain transmission better—monasteries, chapters, reform movements—networks that stretch across regions through personal relationships, not roads.”

The variety he encountered along the way—the “dizzying” mix of styles and architectural solutions—underscored that point.

He offers a contemporary analogy: Rather than assuming ideas spread evenly across a state, think of a university department with deep ties to a lab in the Netherlands—ideas may travel faster via that friendship than along any map. The medieval equivalents—papal circles, Cluniac reform, houses of canons—made and remade aesthetic choices at large scale and across geography.

Ambrose also questions the notion of the Middle Ages as just an “Age of Faith.”

“I’m trying to complicate the emotional landscape,” he says. “Doubt is a primary motivator.” In the 12th century, commentaries on the Book of Job—which wrestles with faith and doubt—were among the most copied texts.

Ambrose notes that art from this period confronts doubt, raising questions such as: Which relic is genuine? Is the Eucharist literally the body of Christ or a symbol? What do I treat as true when I’m surrounded by competing claims?

Even images of damnation—liars punished, tongues ripped out—suggest a culture trying to distinguish fact from fiction. Today, humans face similar questions, he observes.

Ambrose speaks with delight about the people he met on the walk. “There’s a saying on the route that the kingdom of pilgrimage is 2,000 miles long and 5 feet wide,” he says. On that path, one might find an octogenarian walking from Budapest to Santiago—eight or nine months out and back—or a group of students between semesters, or a CEO on sabbatical. Most of the walkers he met weren’t religious.

He says the experience evoked what cultural anthropologist Victor Turner called the liminal experience—a phase between two stages of life, states of being or locations. “I met people from 18 to their 70s. We were all pilgrims together, regardless of motivation.”

Scenes from a (very long) walk

St.-Privat-d’Allier in France.

A fire salamander on the trail near Espalion, France.

The rooftops of Ste.-Foy, Conques in France.

Lungerersee in Switzerland.

View of Fribourg, Switzerland.

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��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Professor Kirk Ambrose set out to better understand art, doubt and medieval pilgrimages, but his 800-mile walk has modern implications.

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Top photo: Kirk Ambrose on the trail. (All photos courtesy Kirk Ambrose)

The real Regency: What history says about Bridgerton

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 24 Feb 2026 15:18:56 +0000

The real Regency: What history says about Bridgerton Rachel Sauer Tue, 02/24/2026 - 08:18

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright notes that Bridgerton demonstrates how fantasy can illuminate real history

With part two of Bridgerton’s fourth season arriving on Netflix this week, fans are once again swooning over romantic duels, dramatic ballroom vistas and whispered scandals.

But beneath the spectacle, many viewers wonder how much of the world on-screen comes from real history and how much is dressed up in empire waistlines for our streaming pleasure?

For Nicole Mansfield Wright, an associate professor of English at the University of Colorado Boulder, that question is more than an idle inquiry. A scholar of British literature from the “long 18th century” (roughly 1688 to the 1830s), she specializes in understanding how literature and other imaginative media can help people either reinforce or question their beliefs about society.

Nicole Mansfield Wright, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� associate professor of English, is the author of Defending Privilege: Rights, Status, and Legal Peril in the British Novel.

Her verdict on Bridgerton?

“Bridgerton is a ‘Disney-fied’ version of history. Historical accuracy isn’t the point of the show—it’s escapist by design. Yet, its packaging as an escapist diversion makes its moments of tacit political critique all the more potent,” Wright says.

The real Regency

The British Regency era in which Bridgerton is set was a time of both grandeur and unrest.

“For Britain, the Regency period was an era of rejuvenation: the Prince Regent took the place of his father, King George III, who was no longer fit to govern,” Wright explains. “Great Britain was ascendant after Napoleon was vanquished. With its military might, it continued to expand its empire as a world power.”

However, it also was a time of deep inequality.

“Much like today, there was increasing resentment over inequality. The most elevated members of society reveled in opulence and conspicuous consumption, which was made possible by the desperate poverty and deprivation of rights for others,” Wright says.

Pressure for reform was growing. Labor movements gained traction. Most concerning, although the transatlantic slave trade had been abolished in 1808, was slavery’s persistence in the British colonies.

What the show gets right

Bridgerton’s aim isn’t to capture gritty realism, but within its stylized depiction of the Regency era, it occasionally lands close to emotional truths about the period.

“Some of the portrayals of gender dynamics are among the most faithful elements of the series,” Wright says.

She points to a moment when Lady Featherington and her daughters wait in silence for suitors who never come. (When some young men finally arrive, they are calling on the girls’ cousin instead.)

“In its representations of race, the series indulges in fantasy. At a time when diversity is decried as ‘woke’ and the numbers of students of color are plummeting at some colleges, Bridgerton dares to persist in envisioning a thoroughly integrated world,” says Nicole Mansfield Wright, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� associate professor of English. (Photo: Liam Daniel/Netflix)

“The bright chatter that pervades the rest of the episode lapses into heavy silence; and the composition of the shots seems cramped and restrictive, as opposed to the joyous ballroom panoramas from earlier in the episode,” Wright notes.

“At such points, the series suggests, the mothers’ concern is not trivial. The mothers want the best for their daughters. Marrying well—or marrying at all—could mean the difference between comfort and constant struggle.”

Even seemingly small moments, like when a young woman is told to stop reading because it will “confuse your thoughts,” have historic precedent.

“It reflects actual 18th-century hostility to women’s supposed susceptibility to being misled by fiction,” Wright adds.

But what about the fashion?

Bridgerton has been praised for its stunning on-screen visuals and lavish costumes. Wright says that, although most of the colors and costumes are chosen for their “pop” on screen, and a number of styles are taken from other eras, some elements are faithful to Regency history.

“Some looks, including empire waists, align more with the styles of the era.”

The fantasy behind Bridgerton’s world

The show’s multiracial aristocracy, egalitarian romances and modern slang might be a far cry from what history buffs hope for in a period piece. However, Wright sees them as deliberate choices that add meaning to the story being told.

“In its representations of race, the series indulges in fantasy,” she says. “At a time when diversity is decried as ‘woke’ and the numbers of students of color are plummeting at some colleges, Bridgerton dares to persist in envisioning a thoroughly integrated world.”

She points to how the show “defamiliarizes” issues of race and often gender. In presenting them this way, it allows viewers to think more critically by decoupling them from today’s headlines.

“The first season of Bridgerton aired in 2021, at the dawn of a different federal administration. For the primary demographic the show reaches—young women—the national mood was hopeful,” Wright says.

“Now, watching the show feels different in an era when Black history is being erased and the lives of people of color are at risk.”

“I’m in favor of showcasing history and literature via pop culture. To make a case for why our research matters, a key step is convincing non-academic audiences to care about our research and the history.”” says ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright. (Photo: Liam Daniel/Netflix)

In this light, Bridgerton’s cultural impact isn’t thanks to perfect authenticity. Rather, mingling with the show’s entertainment value is an imagining of the kind of harmonious world that could have existed at the time and, albeit with much fewer corsets, still could today.

Pop culture as a gateway to scholarship

Despite its liberties with historical accuracy, Wright believes Bridgerton and other popular period dramas can serve as important entry points to a deeper understanding of history.

“I’m in favor of showcasing history and literature via pop culture,” she says. “To make a case for why our research matters, a key step is convincing non-academic audiences to care about our research and the history.”

She’s not alone in this belief.

“Bridgerton can be a gateway for students to become more interested in historical scholarship. I just heard this yesterday when I attended a webinar on ‘Teaching the 18th-Century Beyond the Academy’ by the American Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies,” she says.

Scholars at the event shared how even loosely accurate portrayals like Bridgerton can open doors for rich classroom discussions. In modern academia, where curriculum cuts and attacks on the humanities are becoming more common, those conversations matter more than ever.

Stories still untold

When asked if she could suggest a future Bridgerton subplot, Wright’s mind didn’t venture to more galas or scandalous letters. She’d like the show to dig into one of the Regency’s darker truths: military impressment, which had ramped up from earlier times.

“This was a violent Regency-era military recruitment method. Men were ‘pressed’ into service, or forced to join the British Royal Navy, through physical attacks and intimidation,” she says. “Focusing on impressment would be a good way to explore more intensively the valuation of self-determination vs. the (supposed) greater good that’s at play even in some of Bridgerton’s frothier storylines.

“As a bonus, seafaring vignettes would be a refreshing change of scene and would furnish some large-scale vistas of the kind that make the show a feast for the eye.”

As Wright sees it, whether in Bridgerton’s ballrooms or a future epic on the high seas, popular storytelling doesn’t have to choose between fantasy and critique. In fact, when done well, she says, the fantasy itself can be the critique.

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��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright notes that Bridgerton demonstrates how fantasy can illuminate real history.

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Top photo: Liam Daniel/Netflix

New minor spans disciplines in studying climate science

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 23 Feb 2026 21:39:09 +0000

New minor spans disciplines in studying climate science Rachel Sauer Mon, 02/23/2026 - 14:39

The interdisciplinary climate science minor, available in Fall 2026, will allow students to capitalize on ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� role as a leader in climate research

A new College of Arts and Sciences minor available in Fall 2026 will allow students to study the defining global, environmental, social and political issues of our time across disciplines and departments.

The interdisciplinary climate science minor capitalizes on the University of Colorado Boulder’s place at the vanguard of research, innovation and action—with internationally recognized programs, institutes and departments.

Classes in the interdisciplinary climate science minor span the natural sciences, giving students a broad foundation in understanding how Earth’s climate works, evolves and influences other aspects of the planet and society. Students will receive deep exposure to the science of climate and broader understanding of the complexities of climate change.

“Climate change is perhaps the defining global environmental, social and political issue of our time,” says Bradley Markle, an assistant professor of geological sciences and faculty fellow in the Institute of Arctic and Alpine Research.“The climate system consists of the interactions between the atmosphere, the oceans, the land surface, the biosphere, the cryosphere and the energy the planet receives from the sun. The climate knows nothing of departments, or majors, or any of the other distinctions we impose upon studying the world. An interdisciplinary approach is not just advantageous, but essential, to understanding this system. With this new minor ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� provides our students a path to connect and inter-tangle the world class learning opportunities that already exist within our college.”

Majors and Minors Fair

Learn more about College of Arts and Sciences departments and their majors, minors and certificates at the Majors and Minors Fair!

When: 12-3:30 p.m. Thursday, Feb. 26

Where: University Memorial Center ballroom

Who: All students, faculty and staff are invited

Learn more

Students pursuing the minor will select from a course menu that encompasses astrophysical and planetary sciences, atmospheric and oceanic sciences, applied math, Earth science, ecology and evolutionary biology, environmental studies, geography and physics. They will pursue a total of 18 credits in classes broadly grouped as air and water; ice, land and past climate; the impact of climate on Earth’s environment; quantitative methods; and climate impacts and solutions.

Courses include:

Arctic Climate System
Oceanography
The Cryosphere: Earth’s Icy Environments
Paleoclimatology
Mountain Ecology and Conservation
The Art and Strategy of Science Communication
Climate Politics and Policy
Global Geographies: Societies, Places, Connections

“From this new minor a student can expect to gain both a deep and a broad understanding of Earth’s climate,” says Robert Anderson, a distinguished professor of geological sciences and faculty fellow in the Institute of Arctic and Alpine Research. “They will develop knowledge of the physical mechanisms of climate, gain an appreciation for the web of connections between the atmosphere, ocean, land and biosphere that make up the climate, and learn about the intricacies of modern climate change within the context of past climates on Earth. This background will uniquely position our minors to tackle the challenges that our changing climate poses in the future, and indeed sets the intellectual context for exploration of climates of our planetary neighbors.”

Students pursuing the interdisciplinary climate science minor will be able to connect with students and faculty across campus who share a similar passion for climate science. They also will be able to build connections with research labs through tours and potential internships at NOAA, the U.S. Geological Survey, the Bureau of Reclamation and the U.S. National Science Foundation Ice Core Facility. They also will be able to apply to participate in the Juneau Icefield Research Program, an eight-week summer field school in earth and climate sciences.

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The interdisciplinary climate science minor, available in Fall 2026, will allow students to capitalize on ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� role as a leader in climate research.

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Exhibit highlights environmental impacts of war in Ukraine

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 19 Feb 2026 21:40:01 +0000

Exhibit highlights environmental impacts of war in Ukraine Rachel Sauer Thu, 02/19/2026 - 14:40

“Ecocide in Wartime Ukraine,” a pop-up exhibit at the CU Art Museum Feb. 20, shows through images and interactive displays how the ongoing war has environmentally devastated the country

Feb. 24 will mark the four-year anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine—a devastating anniversary marking the escalation of a longtime conflict into a war that has not abated in devastation or loss.

A sometimes-overlooked aspect of the wartime devastation is the environmental destruction: ruined farmland, poisoned waterways, endless plains of rubble. These losses will be featured in “Ecocide in Wartime Ukraine,” a pop-up interactive exhibit and reception from 4-6 p.m. Friday, Feb. 20, at the CU Art Museum.

The exhibit—sponsored by Svidok.org, Ukrainians of Colorado and the University of Colorado Boulder International Affairs Program—includes largescale photos of the environmental destruction that has happened in Ukraine since the war began along with descriptions and QR codes that participants can scan to learn more.

During Friday’s exhibit, Roman Oleksenko, a community development program manager for Peace Corps Ukraine, will join virtually from Ukraine. Since the full-scale Russian invasion, Oleksenko, who lives in Kyiv with his family, has been volunteering with a non-profit called Ukrainian Action, which delivers humanitarian aid to Ukraine.

U.S. Rep Joe Neguse has said he will attend Friday’s event, as will Boulder businessman and philanthropist Michael Brady, who will talk about his recent trip to Ukraine.

Layers of tragedy

“Ecocide in Wartime Ukraine” was originally proposed by Mark Dillen, a former diplomat with the U.S. State Department who now is director of public affairs for Ukrainians of Colorado. Sarah Sokhey, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� associate professor of political science and Eurasia specialist, met Dillen at an event “and he knew about the availability of these posters through this organization,” she explains.

If you go

What: Ecocide in Wartime Ukraine pop-up exhibit

When: 4-6 p.m. Friday, Feb. 20

Where: CU Art Museum

Other upcoming Ukraine-focused events include:

Speaker Series: Civil Society and Ukraine Resilience at 12:30 p.m. Friday, Feb. 20, on Zoom
Solar Chargers for Ukraine: convert solar panels to solar chargers and decorate them, 10-12:30 p.m. Saturday, Feb. 28, at Fairview High School

In one photo, a red truck traverses a dirt road between two charred fields as smoke billows behind it. “Ukraine’s fertile land, which helps feed much of the world, is being burned and razed to the ground by Russian attacks,” the description notes.

Another photo shows a person hugging a gray cat, and the description is in their words: “On the day the Kakhovka dam was blown up, water began to arrive quickly at 10 pm. People tried to save their property. My grandfather, who had just lost his wife (whose body likely could not find peace due to the flooding and erosion of the cemetery) carried things from his house from 10pm until 4am. Just imagine being forced to swim in cold water all night, in your 70s, with kidney problems and prostatitis.

“My grandfather had chickens, rabbits, and dogs. Our lop- eared Scottish cat, just a huge feline with whom I grew up, simply drowned, and no one helped him. He just drowned in the water. My other cat, also Scottish, but with straight ears, disappeared, and I'm still looking for him. The same thing happened to my sheepdog.”

“There are so many layers of tragedy happening in Ukraine, and I think highlighting any of those is important,” Sokhey says. “Now that we’re four years since the full-scale invasion and still the war is going on, as bad as it’s ever been, it can be hard to know what to emphasize. An aspect of the war that we thought people were missing is the long-term environmental damage—what it means for people living there, what it means for trying to rebuild after war.

“We hope people will come away with a better appreciation of the scale of destruction and the ongoing level of destruction and what that means for people’s quality of life. I don’t know that it’s all reversible, so I think seeing the scale of tragedy and the human impact is really important.”

Sokhey, who asked Oleksenko to join the exhibit, says he readily agreed, but with the caveat that he wants people to know that "'our daily thoughts are not about the environment right now,’” she says. “He’s in Kyiv, which is being attacked regularly, so for him and a lot of people it’s a day-to-day survival issue. While we want people to understand the scale and scope of environmental damage, we also want people to be aware of the human element. A lot of people don’t have the bandwidth to worry about these issues right now when they’re trying to get food and stay warm and stay alive.

“We want to document and note the environmental destruction because a lot of people in Ukraine can’t even think about that right now. They don’t have the luxury of thinking that long-term. That’s how bad it is.”

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“Ecocide in Wartime Ukraine,” a pop-up exhibit at the CU Art Museum Feb. 20, shows through images and interactive displays how the ongoing war has environmentally devastated the country.

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Exploring what it means to take up space

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 19 Feb 2026 17:26:03 +0000

Exploring what it means to take up space Rachel Sauer Thu, 02/19/2026 - 10:26

Rachel Sauer

Multimedia Takin’ Up Space performance Feb. 21 at Fiske Planetarium will highlight historical, cultural, environmental and social justice narratives as an act of reclaiming Black spaces

There are a lot of ways to take up space. The most basic is simply a function of being born—existing on this planet, possessing mass, moving across its horizontal surfaces.

There’s also taking up space in the cosmological sense: pondering the farthest reaches of the universe, soaring through this spiral galaxy and beyond, transcending gravity as an act of belonging in time and in space.

And then there’s taking up space as an act of taking back. This is a reclamation of spaces previously occupied, of being in them, of filling them as an act of defiance and homecoming.

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� professors Shawn O'Neal (left) and Kalonji Nzinga (right) envisioned Takin' Up Space, in part, to "revisit our past in order to have a better evaluation of the present and build better futures," O'Neal explains.

Considering these possibilities and more is Takin’ Up Space III: Holding Space, the third iteration of an event envisioned by Shawn Trenell O’Neal, a University of Colorado Boulder assistant teaching professor of ethnic studies and associate faculty director of the Center for African and African American Studies (CAAAS), and Kalonji Nzinga, an assistant professor in the School of Education.

The free event, which will be from 6 to 9 p.m. Saturday, Feb. 21, at Fiske Planetarium, is a multi-act, multimedia performance produced, arranged and performed by O’Neal and Nzinga, with special performances by Denver singer-songwriter Kayla Marque and wellness guide-somatic artist Soraya Latiff.

The title Takin’ Up Space acts, on one level, to “reintroduce us to spaces we’ve been systematically removed from over decades,” O’Neal explains, adding that themes of space and time are intrinsic to African culture.

“Harriet Tubman, when she was leading folks from enslavement on the Underground Railroad, read the stars and nature. So, another aspect of this is realizing we are one with nature, though we’ve been systematically removed from it for decades. I’ve never thought it was a coincidence that 1964 was the year of the Civil Rights Act and the Wilderness Act. In a way, it was opening the door to Black people’s human rights and closing our access to nature and space.”

If you go

What: Takin' Up Space III: Holding Space, a multi-media performance produced, arranged and performed by Shawn Trenell O'Neal and Kalonji Nzinga, with special guests including Denver singer-songwriter Kayla Marque and wellness guide-somatic artist Soraya Latiff

Where: Fiske Planetarium, 2414 Regent Drive

When: 6-9 p.m. Saturday, Feb. 21

The event is free but tickets are required.

Learn more

Takin’ Up Space will include O’Neal’s all-vinyl live scoring of the 1926 silent film The Flying Ace, whose cast members are all Black, followed by an immersive somatic meditation led by Latiff, during which she will guide reflection on the meaning of “holding space.” Nzinga will perform selections from his hip-hop soul catalog, synced with film visualizations aligned with his storytelling, and then Marque will bring “emotive vocals, electronic textures and cinematic storytelling,” inviting the audience “into a shared cosmic dream,” according to event organizers.

Occupying spaces of Blackness

For O’Neal, performing a live score to an almost-forgotten film represents the confluence of art, history and culture that has long motivated his scholarship and creative life. He first scored a silent film in 1998, when he was living in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and realized he had a gift for DJing.

“My friend had this idea that, ‘Hey, we should score a silent film,’” he recalls. They took on the challenge of scoring the 1925 The Phantom of the Opera starring Lon Chaney and Mary Philbin, and each night of the performance was different.

“I realized, ‘Wow, this is a really creative way to mix records and use my record collection in a different way than just dancing,” he says. “It was my way to push against how we collapse all these art forms into very limited, narrow views of what they can be.”

His goal evolved from literal-minded soundtracking to close consideration of subtext, mood and feeling—scoring as an artistic act of composition that embraces what the film shows both on and beneath the surface. So, on a recent Saturday in his home studio in his Denver basement, The Flying Ace is cued on his laptop, and he is a blur between two turntables and a soundboard.

Shawn O'Neal experiments with sound as he composes a score for the silent film The Flying Ace. (Photo: Rachel Sauer)

The scene playing is a joyous moment of flight, when pilot Finley Tucker takes to the air with Ruth Sawtelle, the woman he hopes to marry.

“When the plane is in the air, I want a big, bright blast of sound, probably something Sun Ra-ish,” O’Neal explains, bent over a milk crate of LPs that represent a winnowing from the many hundreds in his collection. “Then from that moment I want a very feminine sound—Mahalia Jackson to Alice Coltrane.”

If the choices are unexpected—leagues from the calliope plinks traditionally associated with silent movies—it’s partly because “something that’s always interested me about public performativity is the opportunity to capture feelings and emotions that are flowing through the audience, maybe even things people didn’t think they were ready to deal with.”

O’Neal says he wants to give people what they’re not expecting, pursuing a goal of introduction and reintroduction: “We’ve allowed Black music and Black art to be sold so short, so as we’re reintroducing ourselves to spaces of Blackness, that includes a musical heritage that is so broad and so deep.”

In fact, the scaffolding of Takin’ Up Space is built from the Africana aesthetics regarding the five pillars of hip hop studies: DJing, MCing, dance, graffiti/visual art and knowledge. O’Neal, Nzinga and their co-organizers also draw deeply from the symbols and stories in African cultures, including Sankofa of the Akan people of Ghana, represented as a bird with its head turned backward and an egg in its mouth, symbolizing the idea of looking back at the past to learn from it and move forward.

“We’re not doing this to say, ‘This is better than anything else,’ but to revisit our past in order to have a better evaluation of the present and build better futures,” O’Neal says. “We intend to take up space.”

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Multimedia Takin’ Up Space performance Feb. 21 at Fiske Planetarium will highlight historical, cultural, environmental and social justice narratives as an act of reclaiming Black spaces.

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Three ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� faculty named 2026 Sloan Research Fellows

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 17 Feb 2026 16:05:06 +0000

Three ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� faculty named 2026 Sloan Research Fellows Rachel Sauer Tue, 02/17/2026 - 09:05

Fellowships provide $75,000 in funding for early-career researchers in fields including chemistry, physics, neuroscience and mathematics

Three University of Colorado Boulder faculty members have been selected to receive prestigious Sloan Research Fellowships in 2026. Winners receive a two-year, $75,000 fellowship that can be used flexibly to advance their research.

The three College of Arts and Sciences faculty members are:

Erica Nelson, assistant professor in the Department of Astrophysical and Planetary Sciences, for physics.
Andres Montoya-Castillo, assistant professor in the Department of Chemistry, for chemistry.
Kelsie Eichel, assistant professor in the Department of Molecular, Cellular and Developmental Biology, for neuroscience.

“The Sloan Research Fellows are among the most promising early-career researchers in the U.S. and Canada, already driving meaningful progress in their respective disciplines,” said Stacie Bloom, president and CEO of the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation, in announcing the winners Tuesday. “We look forward to seeing how these exceptional scholars continue to unlock new scientific advancements, redefine their fields and foster the wellbeing and knowledge of all.”

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� researchers (left to right) Erica Nelson, Andres Montoya-Castillo and Kelsie Eichel have been named 2026 Sloan Research Fellows.

For 2026, the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation named 126 early-career researchers—including Nelson, Montoya-Castillo and Eichel—as Sloan Research Fellowship award winners. Fellows from this year’s cohort were drawn from 44 institutions across the United States and Canada.

Since the first Sloan Research Fellowships were awarded in 1955, 60 faculty from ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� have received one, including this year’s winners, according to the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation.

“I’m delighted and honored to receive the support of the Sloan Foundation,” Montoya-Castillo said. “I’m especially grateful to my group, mentors and senior colleagues, both at CU and beyond, who have been immensely supportive and kind.”

“It’s a big honor to be recognized by the Sloan Foundation,” Eichel agreed, adding that she is appreciative of the funding for her research. “My lab studies a fundamental question in cellular neuroscience—how neurons build and maintain their polarized architecture. This polarized architecture enables the nervous system to communicate, adapt and ultimately generate behavior. By uncovering the core principles that govern neuronal function, our work will lay the groundwork for developing new strategies to restore neuronal function in neurological diseases.”

Nelson said she is thrilled to be named a Sloan Research Fellow and added that the fellowship funding will be a valuable asset to her research.

“We’ve discovered mysterious red objects in the early universe with the James Webb Space Telescope that challenge what we thought we knew about the first galaxies and black holes. This fellowship provides crucial support to determine what these objects really are: Are they massive galaxies or a never-before-seen phase in the formation of supermassive black holes? Whatever the answer, it will fundamentally reshape our understanding of cosmic dawn in our universe,” she said.

Sloan Research Fellowships are considered one of the most prestigious awards available to young researchers—in part because so many past fellows have gone on to become distinguished figures in science. To date, 59 fellows have won a Nobel Prize, 72 fellows have received the National Medal of Science, 17 have won the Fields Medal in mathematics and 25 have received the John Bates Clark Medal in economics.

Open to scholars in seven fields—chemistry, computer science, Earth systems, economics, mathematics, neurosciences and physics—more than 1,000 researchers are nominated by their fellow scientists each year, according to the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation. The organization said winners are selected by independent panels of senior scholars based upon their research accomplishments, creativity and potential to become leaders in their fields.

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Fellowships provide $75,000 in funding for early-career researchers in fields including chemistry, physics, neuroscience and mathematics.

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Scholar considers language, identity and the fight over shared symbols

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 16 Feb 2026 17:42:36 +0000

Scholar considers language, identity and the fight over shared symbols Rachel Sauer Mon, 02/16/2026 - 10:42

Cody DeBos

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� linguistics researcher Kate Arnold-Murray studies what a Facebook fight reveals about identity

In 2019, Washington, D.C.’s Pride celebrations became a flashpoint—but not just for the usual political tensions. Organizers of the annual Dyke March barred participants from carrying the Jewish Pride flag, sparking a wider debate about symbols and the meanings they carry.

Organizers claimed the flag too closely resembled the Israeli flag and could be insensitive to pro-Palestinian participants. Jewish LGBTQ+ activists, many of whom had marched in the event for years, were stunned.

“I was actually living in Washington, D.C., at the time,” says Kate Arnold-Murray, a PhD candidate in the Department of Linguistics at the University of Colorado Boulder. “I was out of town at the time, so I was looking at things involving the march on Facebook and saw all these arguments going on. I wanted to get to the root of what people were upset about—what people who presumably should be on the same page were arguing about.”

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� scholar Kate Arnold-Murray has studied how the six-pointed Star of David became the center of conflict in a space that promotes solidarity.

What began as curiosity while browsing turned into years of research for Arnold-Murray, culminating in her recent publication in the Journal of Linguistic Anthropology.

Her study looks at how a single symbol—the six-pointed Star of David—became the center of conflict in a space that promotes solidarity.

Bridging language and politics

In her doctoral work at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, Arnold-Murray focuses on how language produces and reflects political identity in America.

“Most of my work involves language and politics on the left in the United States. This piece ties into that work because these are presumably mostly political actors on the left in arguments with each other,” she says.

In her paper, Arnold-Murray examines a trove of public Facebook comments from individuals and organizations reacting to the 2019 Dyke March decision.

“As a member of both the Washington, D.C., queer community and the Washington, D.C., Jewish community, it was like my two sides were fighting, and I wanted to understand why,” she says.

The problem of misrecognition

The controversy centered on the Jewish Pride flag: a rainbow background with a white Star of David in the middle. For some, the star was a proud symbol of Jewish identity that dates back thousands of years. For others, it was too reminiscent of the Israeli flag—and thus a political statement they opposed.

To understand the disagreement, Arnold-Murray turned to the concept of indexicality, or the connection between a sign and its social meaning.

“Indexical misrecognition is accounting for the possibility that we might have misunderstandings based on our lived experiences shaping how we interpret signs like a symbol or word,” she explains.

In other words, what one person sees as an expression of faith or cultural belonging, another may see as a symbol of state violence or exclusion.

“In this instance, each group came with a different notion of what the Star of David means based on their lived experiences—and that’s where we get that misrecognition.”

Arnold-Murray’s paper takes it further. She argues that not only do symbols connect with personal and cultural identities, but they can lead to conflict because their meanings are not fixed. That’s especially true when it comes to symbols like the Star of David, whose associations stretch across religion, nationalism, ethnicity and more.

“If we can find ways to stop arguing about symbols and come together a little more, we can have more political unity. But that has to start with listening to the voices of marginalized individuals and understanding that the signs we use might carry multiple meanings,” says ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� linguistics scholar Kate Arnold-Murray. (Photo: Tom Morris/Wikimedia Commons)

“Another example is the phrase ‘Are you a friend of Dorothy?’ which has been used within the queer community to indicate that someone is queer. But to someone who is not queer, they might not share that same meaning and they might say, ‘Dorothy who?’” Arnold-Murray says.

One flag, many meanings

Arnold-Murray also uses the term bricolage to describe the Jewish Pride flag. In the art world, bricolage refers to a construction created from layers of different materials.

“Here, we have the Jewish Pride flag as a construction of bricolage, where there are the meaningful horizontal rainbow stripes of the queer pride flag and then the white Star of David, which can indicate Judaism or potentially Israel, depending on one’s reading,” she says.

The ambiguity of meaning in signs consisting of multiple parts is what often leads to misrecognition. Since the Jewish Pride flag combines two strong identity symbols, any interpretation is bound to stir deep emotions, Arnold-Murray explains.

“It’s when we have these signs that are so tied up with our identity and who we are that we get these big conflicts among, presumably, a queer community where a lot of people agree on political issues overall.”

For many Jewish participants in the 2019 Dyke March, banning the flag was more than a debate over a symbol.

“A lot of the commenters who were against the ban of the Jewish pride flag were claiming that the ban was anti-Semitic and against them as Jews and that they felt excluded from the march,” Arnold-Murray says.

For organizers, allowing the flag could have been seen as endorsing a political stance they didn’t share. It was a lose-lose situation made worse by how personal it felt for everyone involved.

What’s at stake

Arnold-Murray is careful to warn that there isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution to symbolic conflict. But she does suggest that understanding how symbols work, and why layered meanings can spark conflict, can lead to more empathetic conversations.

“I think the stakes are huge. When we have these signs that are tied to identity, it can feel like a personal attack to be contesting what they mean,” she says.

“If we can find ways to stop arguing about symbols and come together a little more, we can have more political unity,” she adds. “But that has to start with listening to the voices of marginalized individuals and understanding that the signs we use might carry multiple meanings.”

In a political landscape increasingly fractured by culture wars and identity debates, that goal may feel out of reach. But for Arnold-Murray, it all comes back to understanding.

“Meaning isn’t fixed. When it comes to situations like this, what’s really important is listening, being willing to apologize, and being willing to move forward while being as inclusive as possible,” she says. “Understanding that meanings come from lived experiences is a good starting point.”

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��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� linguistics researcher Kate Arnold-Murray studies what a Facebook fight reveals about identity.

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Top photo: Ted Eytan/Wikimedia Commons

From EDM to ‘I do’

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 13 Feb 2026 01:16:49 +0000

From EDM to ‘I do’ Rachel Sauer Thu, 02/12/2026 - 18:16

Rachel Sauer

For Fiske Planetarium off-site education lead and ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� astrophysics alumna MacKenzie Zurfluh, the famed dome isn’t just where she works, but where she found love

Did MacKenzie and Tanner Zurfluh fall in love and get married because of Fiske Planetarium? Not exactly, but it is where they met and it is where she works; plus, Tanner is frequently there helping out at various events. So, credit where credit is due, let’s say that theirs is a Fiske love story.

It began in October 2018, when MacKenzie was serving in the U.S. Air Force and stationed in South Dakota, and Frederick native Tanner was living in Boulder with several roommates who attended the University of Colorado Boulder.

MacKenzie and Tanner Zurfluh met at a Fiske Planetarium show in October 2018. (Photo: MacKenzie Zurfluh)

With all due respect to South Dakota, “there wasn’t a lot to do there when you’re 19 and living on base,” MacKenzie says. So, she and her then boyfriend decided one weekend to drive to Denver for an electronic dance music (EDM) show at Red Rocks and scouted around for something to do the other evening of their visit. They happened across the ILLENIUM laser show at Fiske.

Meanwhile, one of Tanner’s roommates knew someone on the Fiske production team, and that friend of a friend got tickets to the ILLENIUM show for the group.

So, that was how two 19-year-olds who didn’t know each other—one of whom had a boyfriend that she would break up with a week later—ended up at the same Fiske Planetarium EDM show on the same evening.

The show was great—“because all shows at Fiske are,” says the unbiased MacKenzie—and afterward most of the audience migrated to the lobby to chat and make new friends. Tanner was in one amorphous circle and MacKenzie was in another, and eventually the two circles merged.

The closest they came to actually talking, though, was when MacKenzie complimented the jersey that one of Tanner’s friends was wearing. And that was it.

“But we kept running into each other,” Tanner recalls.

Because of the aforementioned South Dakota issue and the fact that Colorado’s Front Range is an EDM hub, MacKenzie drove down most weekends and kept happening across this guy whose name she couldn’t quite remember.

Tanner, however…

After an EDM show at the Ogden Theater in December 2018, Tanner waited outside the theater for 45 minutes to see if she’d come out, not knowing she’d already left.

“My friends had to drag me away,” he says. “It was the first night we talked, and I remember thinking, ‘Come hell or high water, she is going to be my wife.’”

A few weeks later, at the 2018 New Year’s Eve Decadence festival at the Colorado Convention Center, MacKenzie walked up to a group and put her arms around the two nearest people, one of whom happened to be Tanner.

By that point, she remembered his name. SnapChats were exchanged. They were officially Talking with a capital T—not dating, but it wasn’t 100% platonic, either. “After we’d been talking for a while, he looks at me and says, ‘Were you at Fiske on this day wearing this color beanie at this show?’” MacKenzie says.

On Feb. 4, 2019—yes, they remember the exact day—they decided: We’re doing this.

MacKenzie Zurfluh (left, with husband Tanner Zurfluh) graduated at Fiske Planetarium and was a speaker at the ceremony. (Photo: MacKenzie Zurfluh)

Black holes and relativity

In the beginning, MacKenzie left base on Friday afternoon, arrived in Boulder late Friday night and drove back to South Dakota Sunday afternoon. Tanner made the trip north a few times, but they both agreed there was more to do in Colorado.

However, MacKenzie was also getting ready to deploy to the Middle East and tried to give Tanner the ol’ “Go live your life, don’t worry about me.”

“And I remember he goes, ‘That’s fine if you don’t want to have a relationship, but can I still be your friend?’” MacKenzie says, adding that while the deployment ended up being canceled, she was still there and he was here. “That gave us the opportunity to build a really strong friend foundation. There were times where things sucked, and I had him to talk to.”

When she planned to exit the military, MacKenzie knew she wanted to pursue a degree but wasn’t sure where. On the cusp of returning home to California, Tanner offered her an alternative: “Come live here."

Without MacKenzie knowing it, he’d spent months finishing his mother’s Frederick basement. She could live with him there and study astrophysics at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, which is what she did. In the middle of earning her degree, while she was going to school full time and working as a server at a brewery in Longmont, she applied for a job at Fiske and got it.

“I wouldn’t be making as much, so I was really worried about how I was going to pay my bills, but I kept thinking that NASA doesn’t care if I was a waitress, they care if I worked at Fiske,” she says.

“You were chasing your dreams,” Tanner adds. “Studying space and being in the field was always the goal.”

“So, he said to me, ‘We’ll figure it out,’” MacKenzie finishes, and that’s what they did.

In class she was studying black holes and relativity, and at work she was helping them come alive. And in the middle of all this, on the last day of finals in May 2022, kneeling in the chaos of their home remodel—because they’d bought a house in Dacono—Tanner proposed.

She said yes, but with the caveat that they couldn’t even think about planning a wedding until after she graduated—which she did at Fiske Planetarium in May 2024. Seven months later, their wedding in California was essentially Fiske West because so many of MacKenzie’s colleagues attended.

“Our director (Professor John Keller) calls Tanner a Fiske in-law,” says MacKenzie, who is now the Fiske off-site education lead. “Any time there’s an event, he’s here helping.”

“It’s great to be part of the Fiske family,” says Tanner, who co-owns Jayhawk Tile LLC. Fiske has been part of many of their important moments, MacKenzie adds, and in fact her colleague Amanda Wimmer Flint, Fiske on-site education lead, programmed the ILLENIUM show at which they unknowingly first “met.”

Now, sitting in MacKenzie’s office in the depths of Fiske, Tanner can be honest: “As cheesy as it sounds, I fell in love with her smile and her laugh. I genuinely felt a connection.”

MacKenzie beams at him and gestures to her left. “And it happened right out there.”

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For Fiske Planetarium off-site education lead and ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� astrophysics alumna MacKenzie Zurfluh, the famed dome isn’t just where she works, but where she found love.

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Young voices must rise in the climate conversation

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 12 Feb 2026 21:27:51 +0000

Young voices must rise in the climate conversation Rachel Sauer Thu, 02/12/2026 - 14:27

Cody DeBos

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� geography PhD student Ethan Carr joins colleagues worldwide to confront climate change across continents

Ethan Carr has always been drawn to cold places. Growing up, he spent summers exploring national parks and winters immersed in the stark beauty of Alaska.

Now, as a PhD student in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of Geography, he spends his days researching the world’s melting ice and participating in an innovative youth leadership forum alongside fellow climate activists from around the world.

They are part of the Hindu Kush Himalaya (HKH) - Arctic Youth Leadership Forum, an ambitious new initiative connecting young people from mountain and polar regions to amplify voices in the climate fight and search for new solutions.

“Not everybody needs to be a scientist or a strict climate activist to have an impact. Really, all you need is to have a voice and a passion for it," says Ethan Carr, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� PhD student in geography. (Photo: Ethan Carr)

From soldier to scientist

“It’s been a long, kind of windy road to get to where I’m at today,” Carr says.

That road, it turns out, began at West Point.

Carr didn’t originally set out to become a climate researcher when he enrolled at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. But a mandatory earth-science course nicknamed “DIRT” sparked an interest he didn’t know he had.

“That was kind of the first time I realized that you can make a career out of studying and being in really cool environments while you do it,” he says.

After graduating in 2020 and serving as an infantry officer, Carr’s career was redirected by an injury, forcing him to reassess his path forward. Business school wasn’t appealing, but geography still was.

“I took a couple of pre-MBA courses and couldn’t have been more bored in those,” he recalls. “So I said, ‘I have this geography degree, I might as well try to make a career out of it.’”

That decision led him to ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, one of the country’s top hubs for cryosphere research. He moved to the area before even getting into grad school, taking a chance on himself that would soon pay dividends.

First came a master’s degree. Then he turned his attention to pursuing a PhD in geography with support from the Cooperative Institute for Research in Environmental Sciences (CIRES).

Climate leadership across continents

Carr was recently named part of the inaugural class of youth champions in the HKH - Arctic Youth Leadership Forum, a yearlong fellowship launched by the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD) in Nepal. The forum brings together 12 young leaders from some of the world’s most climate-vulnerable regions.

Carr first saw the application on LinkedIn and was intrigued not just by the opportunity, but by the forum’s emphasis on public education and policy.

“One thing I’ve realized in my scientific journey so far is you have a lot of scientists who are obviously very intelligent, but not everyone wants to engage in public education, especially on the policy side,” Carr says.

Coming from a military background, he was already used to thinking geopolitically, so he saw the forum as a way to merge science with diplomacy while making a real impact.

“Within our cohort, we represent nations that are some of the largest emitters, being the U.S., China, and India,” Carr explains. “But we also have representatives from some of the countries that are experiencing the effects of climate change firsthand.”

While studying at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, Ethan Carr took a mandatory earth-science course nicknamed “DIRT” that sparked an interest he didn’t know he had. (Photo: Ethan Carr)

In the Arctic, Carr points to the rapid melting of the Greenland ice sheet, a reality threatening both biodiversity in the region and Indigenous fishing economies. Meanwhile, countries like Pakistan, Nepal, and India, home to thousands of Himalayan glaciers, are confronting retreating ice sheets that underpin their water security.

“We see a lot of similarities in how things are changing, but this collaboration shows the kind of differences in who’s being affected and the populations being affected more so,” he says.

Data meet lived experience

As part of his doctoral work, Carr studies glacial lake outburst floods in Greenland—events in which meltwater lakes suddenly burst through glaciers, often with destructive force. He relies on satellite data to track water levels, but he’s also learned to listen to what local people are witnessing on the ground.

“Local fishermen have been noticing trends where, after these drainage events, they see an increase in primary productivity in local fjords. That has a significant impact on fishing for the year,” he says.

“That’s not something I would have expected as a scientist just looking at satellite imagery.”

This experience is one among many that has shaped Carr’s belief in combining scientific knowledge and the lived experiences of those native to the regions being studied. It also helped reinforce his understanding of the importance of bringing more voices to the table.

“Our generation and the generation after us are going to be the ones that are inheriting the climate mess we’ve been given by former generations, so those voices need to be heard,” he says.

Speaking of his fellow members on the leadership forum, Carr adds, “These are people that are passionate and empowered youth that have good ideas.”

A global generation

Carr sees connection as a unique advantage in his generation’s ability to catalyze change in the climate arena.

“We’re the most globalized generation there has ever been. My parents couldn’t pick up the phone and directly communicate with someone living in Bangladesh or Bhutan. But we can do that and form genuine working relationships with somebody 12 hours across the globe and work on projects that connect our regions,” he says.

He says the ability to collaborate across borders and cultures is a crucial advantage in the fight against climate change.

But so is perspective.

In his conversations with peers in South Asia, Carr has come to appreciate just how immediate the crisis is elsewhere and why people closer to home might not be able to recognize the urgency.

“In the U.S., I think sometimes we can be kind of separate from understanding what’s really happening in the world. Obviously, we’ve had massive disasters, but we’re not going to be seeing the 10-, 15-million people being displaced in Southeast Asia if sea level rises a few centimeters,” he says.

Ethan Carr (bottom row, left) and his colleagues in the Hindu Kush Himalaya (HKH) - Arctic Youth Leadership Forum. (Photo: Ethan Carr)

“These are real impacts happening on that side of the world that we can be pretty ignorant to in the U.S., and it’s something I’ve become way more aware about after talking with folks from over there. They have a lot more urgency in their fight for climate solutions because they can’t afford to wait as long as other parts of the world can,” he adds.

A message for future climate leaders

When asked what he would say to those who feel overwhelmed by the negativity surrounding climate change, Carr doesn’t hesitate. He knows the scale of the crisis can feel suffocating, but he’s also quick to challenge the idea that only scientists belong in the fight.

“Not everybody needs to be a scientist or a strict climate activist to have an impact. Really, all you need is to have a voice and a passion for it,” he says.

Carr believes that the most effective climate solutions will come not just from labs or policy think tanks, but from every corner of society. In fact, he sees this diversity of thought as essential.

“We need climate-minded people in all professions, from business to economics, engineering, and especially journalism. The more we talk about it, the more awareness we can bring to the issue,” he says.

He also sees a need to reframe how climate change is discussed.

“The same rhetoric that’s been used the last few decades of, ‘This is bad because our planet is warming up, and we aren’t going to be able to live,’ hasn’t delivered. Changing how we discuss it to focus on what climate change will do in certain regions and how it will affect local people and economies, I think, is a better way to look at it,” Carr says.

More than anything, Carr encourages young people to speak up and get involved—even if they don’t have a degree or defined role yet.

“The world needs the youth to step up in these spaces. Don’t wait to be asked. Make a space for yourself and move into it. Use your voice to make good things happen in the world.”

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��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� geography PhD student Ethan Carr joins colleagues worldwide to confront climate change across continents.

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Top image: Ethan Carr (third from left) and fellow member of the Hindu Kush Himalaya (HKH) - Arctic Youth Leadership Forum (Photo: Ethan Carr)

Looking at the big picture (book) of East Asia

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 12 Feb 2026 20:36:45 +0000

Looking at the big picture (book) of East Asia Rachel Sauer Thu, 02/12/2026 - 13:36

Alexandra Phelps

An innovative project in the Program for Teaching East Asia brings culture and history to Colorado K-12 students

Colorado students don’t need to book a flight or get a passport to experience East Asia, because a program from the University of Colorado Boulder is bringing the region’s culture and history to them.

For the past two spring semesters, students participating in a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� outreach program to K-12 classrooms have been using a favorite childhood medium: picture books.

The program is coordinated by Lynn Kalinauskas, director for the Program for Teaching East Asia (TEA); Catherine Ishida, assistant director for Japan and Korea Projects; and Christy Go, the program’s graduate student assistant. They have varied their program to involve many East Asian countries, yet the central goal of their program has always been to develop students' cross-cultural understanding.

Lynn Kalinauskas (left), director for the Program for Teaching East Asia (TEA), and graduate student assistant Christy Go (right), along with colleague Catherine Ishida, assistant director for Japan and Korea Projects, coordinate a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� outreach program to K-12 classrooms that uses a favorite childhood medium: picture books.

Building a program

Three years ago, Kalinauskas, who is also the co-director of the National Consortium for Teaching about Asia, envisioned a new classroom outreach program that would bring East Asia into K-12 Colorado classrooms via picture books.

In spring 2024, with funding support from the Office for Public and Community-Engaged Scholarship and the Freeman Foundation, the program used books that taught elementary and middle school students about natural science. Books in the program, such as Moth and Wasp, Soil and Ocean and When the Sakura Bloom, allowed students to see agriculture and plant cycles within an East Asian context.

“Picture books offer a wealth of information. You can look at an image and learn so much,” remarks Kalinauskas. Go noted in an article about the first run of the program that teachers were receptive to the medium that offered a beautiful window into another culture. One educator who is grateful for what the program has done for their classroom said, “The carefully chosen picture book prompted interesting reflections and questions. The artifacts enhanced children's understanding and appreciation of the topic. I appreciated how the presenter drew connections between the children's lives and the experiences of the protagonist of the story.”

As the program progressed, Kalinauskas and her colleagues expanded its scope to cover a new topic. In spring 2025, students learned about the geography of East Asia, and the spring 2026 semester will center on learning about the contributions of famous Japanese people.

Pictures of East Asia

The process of choosing which picture books will be used involves a number of factors. At ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, the Program for Teaching East Asia is a coordinating site for the National Consortium for Teaching about Asia. This national organization administers the Freeman Book Awards that recognize quality books for children and young adults that contribute meaningfully to an understanding of East and Southeast Asia. Many of the books chosen for the project have won the Freeman award.

Excellence in Civic & Community Engagement Programming Awards

The Teaching East Asia through Picture Books program recently received an Excellence in Civic & Community Engagement Programming Award from Campus Compact. The award recognizes the many forms that effective on-campus civic and community engagement can take to address areas of need and make deep and long-lasting positive change.

In the spring 2025 semester, the five books chosen were The Ocean Calls: A Haenyeo Mermaid Story by Tina Cho, Warrior Princess: The Story of Khutulun by Sally Deng, The Sound of Silence by Katrina Goldsaito, Rice by Hong Chen Xu and Mommy’s Hometown by Hope Lim.

A book such as Rice can be an important addition to the curriculum as it highlights agricultural practices in southern China, informing the reader about the impact geography has on people’s daily lives, their environment and cultural practices.

Students teaching students

Organizers note that the program is innovative not because it teaches students through picture books, but because it gives an internship opportunity to ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� students of all disciplines and brings these new interns into Colorado classrooms.

Every fall, TEA staff begin recruiting for the spring outreach. Applicants have to submit short essays and participate in an interview. It is important that students selected be excited to teach about East Asia.

The process of working with the ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� students is individualized and collaborative. Go says she works as a mentor for the students, adding that the staff work with student interns on multiple levels from how they should dress when presenting in classrooms, school procedures and what to expect when teaching children. Students work with the staff to identify the important characteristics of their assigned book and develop a lesson plan. Because students may visit different grade levels, they also learn to adapt their lessons to different age groups.

Teachers participating in the program often try to align the book selection with the material they’re already teaching. “We had kindergarten and second grade classrooms that were learning about the life cycles of plants, so they chose When the Sakura Bloom because they wanted to talk about the connection (between the East Asian representation and their science),” reflects Go. “Tracing the life cycle of the Sakura (cherry blossom) tree in the story not only reinforced student learning of the plant life cycle but also engaged students in discussing cultural events inspired by these natural processes through the presentation of hanami (cherry blossom–viewing picnic events) in the story.”

Lily Elliott (EBio, AsianSt'25) reads Rice to elementary school students. (Photo: Christy Go)

In the classrooms, CU student interns provide background information for students. The CU interns each read aloud while pointing out cultural representations, key characters and concepts, location, relationships between characters and relevant context related to the themes, science or geography. One CU student teaching The Ocean Calls introduced different sea life and later asked students while they were reading to point out the animals. This is followed by a lesson plan and an interactive activity. For one student teaching Sound of Silence, a book about a boy trying to find silence in the city of Tokyo, “our student found sound clips of different places in Tokyo and had students listen and guess where they were,” remembers Go. “Students loved it!” The presentations are like “a traveling show,” says Kalinauskas, who oversees each step of this process.

Beyond their involvement in coordinating with teachers, choosing books and mentoring student interns, staff take their commitment to the program one step further by driving student interns to schools all around Colorado.

More than a cup of noodles

In the first year, 64 classrooms participated; the following year, interns presented in 49 classrooms. The classes are usually in the Denver-Boulder metro area but have reached as far as Greeley. While mainly aimed at elementary classrooms, program organizers have also brought their CU interns to middle schools and one high school classroom. Additionally, if a school is too far to be reached by car, like one school in Grand Junction, interns have done interactive Zoom presentations.

This program has been enriching for Colorado K-12 students while simultaneously being a great educational experience for the ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� student interns. Kalinauskas and Go have found that through this program, many students have gained professional skills and experience that have expanded their career pathways. Two former graduate students in education are now teaching in local schools. Another student intern, who taught a book on Korea, was so inspired that she moved to Korea to teach English.

"Picture books offer a wealth of information. You can look at an image and learn so much."

For Colorado teachers, the program doesn’t end when interns leave their classroom. Although the presentations cover only one book, each classroom receives a copy of every book in that semester’s program for students to read for years to come. Teachers also receive cultural information and teaching resources to engage students in learning about all the books in the program. TEA also hosts a fall in-person workshop for Colorado teachers focused on the same books. Kalinauskas and Go note that although they aim to expand their program to many new classrooms, some teachers love it so much they have participated in multiple semesters.

TEA is bringing its program into Colorado schools next spring. The focus for Spring 2026 will be on the biographies of famous Japanese people and Japanese culture. The program features the story of a young female artist in Japan during the Edo period, the first woman to summit Mount Everest and a story about how Momofuku Ando created one of the world’s most popular foods, instant ramen.

“The picture book Magic Ramen not only teaches us about how instant ramen was created but takes us back in time to Japan post-World War II, where a young man was trying to feed people in Osaka,” says Kalinauskas. “We don’t always think about that historical context when we are just having our cup of noodles.”

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An innovative project in the Program for Teaching East Asia brings culture and history to Colorado K-12 students.

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Top image: Isaac Kou (CompSci, EBio'25) reads "The Sound of Silence" to first-grade students. (Photo: Christy Go)

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